Three nights.Three nights in a basement that might've once been a prison, a storage room, or just a place where humanity went to die. The walls were damp. The air smelled like fear, rotten sardines, and… something that gave up on life sometime in the 15th century.
I sat in a corner, wrapping my legs with a rag. Valmor was sleeping upright as usual—in a way that convinced me he was the reincarnation of a flagpole.
"We're out of food," someone whispered.
"Lies. There's still one can left."
"That one has only water and a single leftover chili pepper. I'm not sure if that counts as food or punishment."
There were ten survivors left. Used to be twelve. But last night, a noble disappeared. Literally. Said he was going to relieve himself, then never came back. Just left his silk sarong hanging on a wall hook. Since then, everyone's been sleeping in a half-circle formation—like a pizza with no toppings.
Me? I've been carving sudoku puzzles into the bricks to distract myself from existential questions like "Am I going to die over a power struggle that has nothing to do with me?" or "How the hell does Valmor snore even thought he were a horse?"
"This is insane," one of the survivors whispered. Her name was either Mira or Mina. I just called her Miss Panic.
"We need to get out. Or at least find out who the traitor is."
"Why does there have to be a traitor?" I asked softly while stirring tea that was… actually just leaf water I found in Valmor's pocket.
"Because this is a political story. There's always a traitor."
Fair point.
Someone moved toward the back wall and whispered, "I heard footsteps last night. Behind the wall. Maybe there's a hidden path."
"…Or an obese rat," Valmor chimed in, awake without warning.
Everyone stared at him in confusion. I immediately faked a loud cough.
"Sorry, that was… my stomach," I said. "It's hungry. Starting to make weird noises."
One of the nobles, looking paranoid as hell, came up to me. "You. The foreign servant. Who did you come here with?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I followed the smell of sardines. Joke's on me—they were spiritual sardines."
Tension kept rising. People started suspecting each other. One person was accused of stealing biscuits. Another, of being a spy. I started thinking: this feels like a dystopian reality show called "Who Wants to Die First?"
Finally, I stood up and said loudly:
"If you want to find the traitor, start with the one whose nails are still perfect. No way that's a starving person."
They glanced around. One person quickly hid their hands. Hah. At least there was some entertainment.
But before the paranoia turned into a fistfight, we heard something. A knock.Three times.Then twice.Then once.
Someone inside answered with the same pattern. A stone in the wall shifted. A hidden door opened. Everyone immediately panicked and swarmed toward it.
And I, dragging Valmor by his tail, muttered,"Finally. Next episode."